The last group job at Angel Investigations -- a fairly routine intervention to take out a pair of vampires who'd been killing homeless people in Morningside Park -- wrapped up a few days ago. Spike's doing a post-mission patrol to be sure they haven't disrupted anything local beyond what they intended; Gunn's taken care of the internal paperwork; and Jonathan's been putting together the written summary to hand over to the local Watchers.

Well. What's upset her the most is Andrew's consistent refusal to speak to her mind-to-mind, or out loud beyond the few necessary words she might exchange with any other inmate, such as requests for food, fresh clothes, an extra blanket.

But what's worried her is that he hasn't asked for anything to pass the time. No tablet with games or videos on it, no pencil and paper, no baseball to bounce off the opposite wall.

No books.

In the cell, Andrew finishes his breakfast (cornflakes, with sliced banana), sets aside the bowl, and settles down leaning against the wall.

It's late, at least by his body-clock. There's nothing else he can do, so he may as well take a nap.

The cot feels unreasonably exposed; he spends a few minutes wrangling the thin mattress onto the floor, at which point the framework obligingly vanishes to give him a convenient place against the wall to lay it down. He takes off his shoes and socks and his button-down shirt, and lies down in his jeans and undershirt, and stares at the wall.

A week. Maybe in a week he can convince them that he isn't a danger to anyone and they'll let him go.

In the morning Matt gets examined again, and given one more round with the device that stimulates bone regrowth for his cracked rib, and released from the infirmary with strict instructions to go back if he finds either the rib or his head giving him any pain.

Andrew's been talking to Security while this is going on, and returns to hover around the infirmary entrance while Matt's being discharged.

(He feels like he should be feeling less afraid, after a night's sleep and a definite course of action. Somehow he's not.)

It's a brisk clear day in early fall at Milliways. Perfect for a picnic by the lake, especially by the Caribbean inlet where the lake has been made to think it's an ocean and the warmer tropical air blends with the cool crispness of autumn in Scotland.

Andrew's been intermittently eyeing the picnic basket Matt's carrying as they make their way toward the shore.

The note's on medium-weight ivory paper (formal-looking but not expensive; the sort of thing a broke college student might print a resume on), in painstakingly neat handwriting, and has very clearly been crumpled and smoothed out again at least ( once. )

"So can you bring me up to speed?" is the first thing Dr. Millman asks him, once they're settled in one of the infirmary's consultation rooms. "Nita didn't give me too much of the context."

Previously on Milliways, he thinks (with what he really wishes were more genuine humor), and takes a deep breath. And plunges in.

The first time he met Matt, trying to read auguries in the fragments of a broken teacup. How quickly he'd warmed to him, talking shop about different magic systems; how he'd offered to show Matt the Council Library sometime.

"And that's not something I should have even considered with a guy I just met, you know?" he adds in an aside. "I mean there's sensitive stuff in there, information that could be seriously dangerous in the wrong hands ... I don't think he took anything but the point is I didn't know, I -- god," he groans, "that was so irresponsible."

It's not that he hasn't been eating. It's that he hasn't been able to muster the energy to do much more than unwrap a granola bar or a stick of beef jerky or open a packet of chips, once or twice a day. And even at that rate, he's run out.

He made himself take a shower yesterday, which means his clothes have only been slept in once, so he can probably make it through the bar without attracting too much attention. There's a baseball cap to hide his bedhead, and obscure his face a little. If he's lucky, maybe he won't run into anyone he knows.

Getting the okay from Giles wasn't hard at all; after all, he's brought other friends from other worlds to the Council library before. He managed to avoid mentioning that this was a guy he'd only just met, so that worked out all right.